Trigger Warning: The following content contains subjects like noncon and self-harm that can be disturbing to readers—reader discretion advised.

Hrafn pressed his forehead against one of the shelves of the refrigerator, every fiber of his being embroiled with rage. A snarl threatened to break past his lips and he forced himself to calm his mind. It was an agonizingly fruitless endeavor, but one he needed to control all the same. This was the first time he’d seen Haneul unhinged. Of course he’d had his suspicions, Haneul so frequently hid behind a smile and a very calculated “Don’t worry about it” or “I’m fine”, that he rarely let anyone peek into his thoughts. 

Restrained. He was very restrained, Hrafn decided. And while words often failed him, both in Haneul’s language and his own, he always tried to be as truthful to his emotions as he could. It would do no one good for a warlord to lose their control due to an emotional overload.

But in the life that Haneul lived, where he had no seemingly say against his father’s will—there was no margin for allowing an emotional output. He himself had seen far too many soldiers fall to such a malady, driven further and further to the prison of their minds while the countenance presented not a crack in their shattering spirit.

Grabbing a bottle of water, Hrafn swallowed the last of his fury. While he very much wanted to disembowel and pike whoever had set off his human’s fuse, he vowed to be civil. 

Not to mention he couldn’t leave the apartment without compromising them. 

His claws clicked as he made his way across the tile to the carpet. This seemed to draw Haneul out of whatever doze he had slipped into. Their fingers brushed against each other in the exchange of the bottle of water.

Hrafn crouched before Haneul, searching his face for any clues. If anything, the human just seemed exhausted.

“Would you like for me to leave you alone?” He asked.

Haneul shook his head. “Please don’t.”

Nodding, he gave a gentle sniff. The distress hadn’t faded from Haneul’s scent yet, but the worse of the original hysteria seemed to have eased.

“Were you inside when I…” Haneul paused, as if not sure what to say. 

“No. I was on the rooftop,” he said. “I saw you run into the building. It looked dire, so I returned.”

A mirthless huff escaped Haneul and he stared dejectedly at the bottle of water. “Well, you weren’t wrong.”

Hrafn faintly wondered if that was intended as a quip. Afterall, it was a severe understatement. “Do you wish to talk about it?”

“No.” 

The reaction caught both of them off guard and neither knew how to proceed. Hrafn felt guilty not knowing how to proceed. Haneul looked away with a wince.

“Where’s Charles?” he murmured meekly, changing the subject.

“Earlier, Ha-Rin took him to…she called it a puppy spa, I believe.”

This drew the smallest of chuckles from Haneul. They settled into another pause, this time less tense and strained before finally one of them decided to speak up. 

“My family and father chose a marriage partner for me,” Haneul finally said, almost too quiet to hear if it weren’t for the flicker forward of Hrafn’s ears.

“I’ve read of marriage. It is like mating, correct?”

“Is that what your people do?” 

“Mm.” They were finally getting somewhere. “Mates are not entirely common. Because the cold ices our planet the majority of the year, partners must go out to perform duties as arms for hire. And it is uncommon to find jobs where both can go together. Many of my kind do not desire the undue stress of being parted from a mate for such a long time.” 

“You make mating sound so serious,” Haneul hummed.

Hrafn tapped his chin. “I cannot…explain it well, not in my language—and certainly not in this one. However, to mate is like to gain a new piece of yourself. So when you leave on commission—and not together—it hurts. A lot.”

Haneul didn’t respond right away and Hrafn shifted uncomfortably. Had he really explained things that poorly? Perhaps it would’ve been better if he steered the talk to a different matter.

“Here, you can marry for love, or financial gain, or for political improvement. A number of things really.” There was a break as if Haneul struggled to breathe. “And my family has decided for me. They picked solely on a financial and political level, what would be the best option for the family business.”

“Why do they have such authority over your life?” Hrafn demanded, perhaps a little too sternly. 

“Because that’s the way it is,” Haneul’s voice went monotone—as if he were used to answering this question a hundred times over. “I owe an obligation to my father and our family. Money buys a lot of things and sadly that means it bought out my chance of escape.”

“Only as an obligation? Do you not realize you’re miserable?”

“Am I? It’s only on bad days that things are like this,” he spat back momentarily before hanging his head. “Sorry. Family is a powerful thing and money equally strong. It’s easier to not say anything at all. Sometimes in the end it is a matter of doing as you’re told and force a smile and listen. Back when I was in college, I promised I would straighten up and perform their perfect little image once I was done with schooling. As long as they gave me the freedom to do what I wanted during that time, I would do anything for them. They would have forced me to follow my father’s profession regardless, but…they do love a good bargain.”

Something disgusting churned within Hrafn. “In exchange for your so-called freedom, you traded away your ability to back out.”

“Who doesn’t love an obedient kid?” Haneul pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “I make the role my own, don’t get me wrong. They say jump and so I skip. They say count and so I tell the time. I still listen but in a way to make them equally unhappy.”

Hrafn had lied about being civil. Civil be damned. He was a warlord and if he had to decapitate Haneul’s whole family, then—

A flick against his forehead gave him pause and he stared up in shock.

“Don’t make such a scary face, it’s not worth it. I’ve made my peace with it for the most part.” Haneul assured. 

“You shouldn’t have to!” Hrafn growled, “Something like this shouldn’t be forced upon you. Not even by blood-kin.”

“No it shouldn’t.” And just like that, Haneul was the calm one. “But sometimes that’s just the way things are.” 

Since the day Trunadur sent him spiraling through the Star Warp, this persistent helplessness had settled upon Hrafn. It was an inescapable force, something that originated with his broken wing and ended with his inability to help this human before him. If his wing were whole, he would not hesitate to whisk Haneul away from this place—offer him a sanctuary on a world far away from this one. But part of him knew that too would be a fruitless attempt. The unrest of the council and the unstable state would only lead to more problems that he couldn’t afford. That neither of them could afford. Yet the image of Haneul there in the council room trying to be diplomatic and factual popped into his head. Despite the absurdity of it, something unfolded in his chest like a bloom and stayed there. 

“What you did before with your wings,” Haneul piped up. “Is that…a normal Bjarnstarnin thing?”

Hrafn’s wings shuffled and he found himself flustered at the sudden notion of explanation. “It’s not an everyday occurrence. Our wings are both our best strength, and as you know, our worst weakness. To completely envelop someone in ourselves like that is reserved…for those…uh, extraordinarily special to us.”

The gravity of his actions made him question himself. What if Haneul were offended or upset further? Hrafn understood the implications of his own actions and while it had been something more spur of the moment than intentional, he didn’t necessarily object to the implications either. To envelop someone in one's own wings was an intimate and straightforward declaration. The feeling in Hrafn’s chest expanded.

He…

“Could you do it again?” Haneul asked, barely audible—so hushed and trembling that it seemed like he was instantly prepared for rejection. “It was safe.”

A breath stopped in his lungs before Hrafn remembered how to properly utilize them. He stood his full height and gestured stiffly. “May I touch you?”

After a warring glance, Haneul nodded.

Hrafn picked the man up as though he weighed nothing. Together, he settled them back on the couch, nestling Haneul in his lap, and folded his wings around them. His broken wing left part of his right side uncovered, but the city from the french doors glittered prettily in the opening. 

“We can talk later, about what this means to me,” Hrafn murmured, the warmth now drowned out by the erratic staccato of his heart.

“I’m not entirely stupid, y’know. I can guess from how you said ‘extraordinarily special’.” Haneul smiled something faint but fond. “If I could choose, I wouldn’t mind. I would be more than happy to choose you. This is nice…you are nice.”

Hrafn crooned softly. He meant what he said earlier, about many of his people not wanting a mate—himself included. Especially with being a warlord, he constantly traveled to Meotl as a dignitary and with high merchants as chief ship guard. He traveled anywhere and everywhere in the galaxy, duty and wanderlust calling him. Outside of farming season, he hardly lived on-world. Diverting himself to a partner would be difficult and tiring, even in the best of times. 

And yet he didn’t mind this either. If he so wanted, he could choose.

It was nice. Haneul was nice. He wanted to choose Haneul. 

The human was a comfortable weight against his body and he held him closer. In turn, Haneul rested his head against his shoulder, the soft strands of his hair tickling Hrafn’s chin.

“She touched me,” Haneul said, running his hand up his leg to show. “Without asking. Just at her leisure. And when I reacted…when I lost my control, I was the crazy one. Why is it always like this?”

Hrafn rested his chin on the crown of Haneul’s head. “Would you have me do anything? Clearly I’m feeling generous tonight.”

“You can’t. She’s wealthy and from a powerful family.”

“I’m a warrior, Haneul. I’m stealthy and efficient—no one could ever find her if I so tried.”

Laughing, Haneul looked up at him. “You’d do that for me?”

“I—” Hrafn stopped and swallowed haphazardly when their gazes met. The reality of it crashed hard on him, that yes, he would go to any such length. If Haneul asked, he would act, simple as that. From that one moment in the dark where neither could speak and only a wavering newfound truce had been brought between them—this outcome had been set in stone. He felt backed into a corner with only one way out. Even then, he wanted that one way out. 

The way that led towards a human with the gilded eyes and a strength hidden behind a liar’s smile. 

“We really need to talk,” Hrafn whispered, his clawed fingers gently grazing along the plane of Haneul’s back.

Haneul nodded and remained quiet for the rest of the night.

The city provided a sort of ambience that smoothed over the events of that night. Sounds of cars and sirens were a distant melody—a low thrum that droned pleasantly in the background. It rocked the world of the penthouse until it felt like their little haven of feathers and wings was its own world away from everything else. And in a sense, it was their own universe. Something the two of them made for themselves but didn’t have a name for.

Didn’t have a name for yet.